The sun was setting.
It glinted gold on the horizon, burning oranges and pinks into the sky. It scattered light across the sands, turning the dunes into an undulating sea of umber and black. The heat of the day faded with the sun, leaving a cool breeze over the desert, brushing gently against the sandy waves. Chephren watched from his balcony, reveling in the feel of the night's new cool.
The sun temple littered the ground below his feet; worshipers still continued to kneel even as the sun waned. The Sun God, Amun, was said to watch over the skies at day and all of humanity. His eyes saw the people kneel before his altar, if even one single citizen forgot, it was said, He might conveniently forget to make the sun rise in the morning.
Chephren prayed He would forget.
The night leached the fire from the sky, spreading the violet-gray. A smattering of stars appeared, shimmering in their captive blanket. Chephren began to pace, the deep tan of his feet turning a cold blue in the coming darkness. He lit no candles, but continued to pace instead, impatient. Soon, when the sun had dipped below for its slumber, she would awaken, and she would come to him.
She was everything to him, his Goddess of the Night. She made him desire to turn away from Amun, to turn from his whole life, to turn away from all of his people, to turn away from the suns light.
As the last of the sunlight faded from the world, the worshipers turned from the temple, satisfied with their labors. They knew the sun would rise because of them, and they would be able to sleep soundly in the bowels of their homes, awaiting the sun's glimmer upon the land. Chephren both envied and despised them, hated that they could still love the daylight.
A cool breeze filtered in; there were no walls in his third-floor bedroom; only giant, round pillars of stone, cutting him off from the world outside. The desert had turned a milky white in the rising moonlight, and the white night light slid into his bedroom, coating the tapestries and sheer curtains in an eerie blue.
A noise; he knew without turning that she had come, and he hardened at the thought of her standing behind him. A milky white hand, blue in the moonlight, slid over his chest. It was dappled in rings of silver and the blackest onyx. The hand was delicate and smooth, cool in the darkness. Lips pressed into the naked skin between his shoulder blades; he could feel her breathing against him, her breath as cold as the darkest hours of the night.
She held him there for a moment, loosely. Had she used all of her strength, she would have crushed his bones.
She ran long, red-tipped nails over the tight muscles of his stomach, trailing them over the bits of hair that grew down near the top of his linen kilt. He shivered, whispering "Sekhmet."
The name described all she was: his love, his goddess, his warrior woman.
A tiny hiss purred from behind him as her fangs elongated and she pulled her face away from his back, just enough to sink her teeth into his shoulder. His knees almost buckled as she drank; a world of pleasure from just that tiny sip. Every drop of blood caressed his veins as it left, the poison on her teeth turning what should have been painful into indulgence.
When he turned to her, she kept her lips pressed against his skin, dragging them across the length of his shoulders. He wrapped his arms desperately around her body, wanting to feel her in his arms. Every cell of his being cried out to be closer; the pull of her body was an irresistible gravity.
The white of her skin glowed faintly in the moonlight; Sekhmet's skin was so pale, she looked as though she were made of carved limestone. Her eyes turned up to him were pools of ebony, a piece of the night's sky caught in her irises; they glittered with promise. Her lips pursed and dripping crimson with his blood.
Tangling his hands deep in her ebon hair, Chephren bent to kiss her; she tasted of the salt of his blood, and of something sweet, like nectar or figs. The rush from her lips was a high. He couldn't get enough of her once he had tasted her. Pulling her closer, Chephren pulled one, lithe leg over his hip, feeling her skin like stone wrapped in soft, alabaster skin. He felt her body temperature warm with his blood, and he felt a rush of lightheadedness at the sticky, sweet smell of her skin so close to him.
She backed up one step, sliding her leg from his hold, then another step, their lips still tangled together. Sekhmet fell away from him, tumbling them both onto the bed. Chephren lay over her, one hand pressed into the sheets on either side of her, as she smiled wickedly up at him, her lips swollen and soft. He looked down on her, memorizing every detail of her face, her body, wanting to remember her just like this when the sun rose and she would disappear into the shadows.
"Chephren?" she asked, studying his face, her eyes liquid black and curious. He shivered as his name spilled from her lips, coloring the word with everything he was, wanted to be. He heard hints of every night he had spent tangled together with her in that simple word, a name that had meant nothing until she had spoken it.
Falling into her again, he distracted her curiosity with his tongue, lapping gently at the inside of her neck. Her scent was too heavy here, at the nape of her neck; he nibbled, feeling her body arch underneath him, pressing her skin against his. Reverently, he began to untie her linen dress, finding new skin to worship under every fold of white cloth. She cried under his mouth, writhing in synch with the movement of his lips.
When she lay naked before him, his whole body ached to merge with hers, shook with the need to be closer. Chephren pressed his lips to her nipple, running his tongue over the tiny peak. Her body shivered in delight underneath him as he suckled, his hands running over her body as though she were fragile, his touches light as a whisper. He breathed across her skin, reveling in every movement, every moan he enticed.
